Wild Swans (11 page)

The next afternoon, I decide to stop by Java Jim's after my shift at the library. Their black currant iced tea is pretty good, but mostly I'm hoping to see Connor. After Granddad showed up at lunch yesterday, Connor and I didn't have another minute alone. Granddad kept telling stories about Dorothea, and then he insisted on bringing out an old family photo album. We looked at pictures of Great-Great-Grandmother, posing next to the roadster that she and two of her daughters would be killed in; Dorothea, standing on the front porch next to Robert Moudowney before he went off to war; Grandmother, playing in the backyard with thunderclouds in the distance.

Connor was a rapt audience, captivated by the Milbourn family archive. He seems more of a mind with Granddad when it comes to our legacy—that it's a gift, not a curse; that the Milbourn women were extraordinary, not doomed. But I look at my mother, at Isobel and Gracie, and I don't know. Will they be okay? Will I?

I really, really want to believe that it's
me
Connor wants and not just a Milbourn. He already has the job; he doesn't need to kiss me to get it.

When I texted with Claire, she asked,
Why is it so hard for you to accept that maybe he likes you?
I didn't know how to respond. I guess I feel like there must be some catch. Like being me isn't enough. In this town, I'm never just Ivy. It's Ivy
Milbourn
. Everything I do, everything I am, reflects back on my family.

But Connor smiled at me. He held my hand. He wanted to kiss me, I think.

I definitely wanted to kiss him.

It's probably not cool to want to define what's happening between us, but I do. And I know he's working at Java Jim's this afternoon.

I'm in no hurry to get home anyhow. Dinner last night was a disaster. I made gazpacho and served it with some of Luisa's homemade bread. It was lovely for about ten minutes, till Erica warned Isobel that the bread would go right to her hips. Iz stormed upstairs and slammed her door, and Gracie cried because Mama hurt Izzy's feelings. Then Granddad started railing about the damaging way Erica talks to Isobel, how she's going to encourage an eating disorder and doesn't she realize she's going to pass on her unhealthy relationship with food to her daughter, and also did she really need to drink half a bottle of wine with dinner?

While I did not disagree with Granddad's points, I thought the middle of supper was maybe not the best time to make them. I ended up hiding out in the kitchen with Gracie, eating the rest of the vanilla ice cream and watching funny YouTube videos of cats.

“I miss Daddy,” Gracie said plaintively at one point, as Erica hollered at Granddad, and I wondered if maybe it would be better to have the truth come out then and there if it meant the girls would end up back with Gracie's dad.

It's not my choice to make, and I don't know how Erica was before she showed up on our doorstep, but she seems to be unraveling fast. She's been going out every afternoon, supposedly to fill out job applications, but she comes back hours later reeking of cigarettes and already a few drinks in. Granddad offered to talk to Robby Griffin down at the Cormorant about whether they could use another hostess, but Erica pitched a fit about him trying to run her life. I'm still waiting for the explosion when she finds out that he signed Gracie up for those gymnastics and drawing classes.

Mostly I just keep my mouth shut and feel like I'm being disloyal to everyone, including myself. Between Granddad and Erica's shouting matches, Isobel's scowls, and Alex's disappearing act, home isn't much fun anymore.

I pause in front of the picture window of the Book Addict, pretending I'm checking out their “If You Like
Game of Thrones
, Try This” display, but really I'm trying to see if Judy is at the register. The owner of the Book Addict is the biggest gossip in town. There is no way in hell she hasn't noticed that Erica's back, and I am not up for being poor-deared to death about it.

Her co-owner, Susan, sees me and waves me in. They're a funny pair. Judy's tall and loud, with a mop of brassy red hair and an endless supply of gauzy scarves. Susan's tiny, wispy, and whispery, with striking, almost waist-length white hair. She always dresses in all black, so when I was little I thought she was a tragic widow, till one morning I saw her over on Water Street watering her roses while her husband read the
Gazette
on their front porch.

“Ivy Milbourn!” Susan whisper-shouts as I walk in. “Judy, look who's here!”

I put on a smile and look to the back of the store.

It's worse than I'd imagined. Judy has my sisters cornered in the children's section.

I start panicking immediately. What are they doing here? What is my mother thinking, bringing them into town? I guess it's not realistic to keep them cooped up in the house all summer, but it's not realistic to try to keep this secret either. She should've thought of that before she lied.

Gracie is petting the Book Addict's fat tabby cat, Sir Toby. Isobel is slouching against a rack of Elephant & Piggie books.

“Ivy Milbourn!” Judy shrieks. “I was just telling your sisters about the concert in the square tomorrow night!”

I barely hear what she says after
your sisters
because my heart starts pounding so hard it echoes in my ears.

I told Erica this was a stupid plan. I told her the truth wouldn't stay secret.
I told her.

But Isobel is looking at Judy like she's a bit dim, not like she's revealed a life-altering family secret. Maybe I can play this off like Judy misunderstood and assumed we were sisters since Iz and I are so close in age. Judy is mid-monologue about the bluegrass band scheduled to perform tomorrow night when I grab Gracie's elbow and start towing her toward the door.

“Sure, that sounds super fun. We'll bring a picnic,” I lie. If we escape the bookshop, there is no way we are going to that concert. We'd be sitting ducks for Judy and all the other old gossips. “You like picnics, right, Gracie? There's a farmers market this afternoon. Let's go get some peaches to bring with us!”

“Sure,” Gracie says, and Iz allows me to herd them toward the door, though she rolls her eyes at my sudden enthusiasm for produce.

“Oh, that's a wonderful idea. Stan's got fresh cherries too,” Judy says. We weave through the mystery section and are almost at the door when she adds: “It must be real nice for you to have your sisters home for the summer, Ivy.”

Isobel stops short, giving me a disdainful look. “We're not her sisters.”

Judy laughs. Laughs! Like Iz is trying to trick her. “Of course you are, honey. Half sisters, I guess—we never did hear who Ivy's daddy was—but Gracie looks just like your mama when she was little. And you—well, Erica used to sulk all around town too when she was your age.” Judy turns back to me, utterly oblivious to how much I want to strangle her. “I always felt awful sorry for you, sweetheart, growing up in that big old house all alone. It's about time Erica came home and made amends for the way she ran off.”

Isobel is staring at me now with those big, brown eyes rimmed in black eyeliner. I can never do eyeliner right. I rub my eyes and it smears or gets in my contacts, and then I'm left blinking and blind all day.

“I think you're confused,” Iz says carefully to Judy. “Ivy's mama died when Ivy was just a baby.”

Gracie nods. “That's how come Mama won't let me learn to swim, 'cause our grandma Grace drowned. Mama named me after her.”

“That's right,” I say loudly, glaring at Judy, daring her to contradict me.

Susan catches on and clears her throat. “Judy, come over here and look at this Ingram order for me, will you?”

“What order?” Judy asks. Susan gestures her over with wide, insistent eyes.

“What was she talking about, Ivy?” Isobel's voice is shrill. “She's confused, right?”

I'm silent. I can't—won't—lie. Not when she's asking me straight out. “I think we should go home.”

But the answer is pretty obvious now, and Isobel's smart. “She's not confused at all, is she? Mama lied to us.
You
lied to us. Granddad lied to us, and—”

“I'm sorry.” I keep my voice low. Susan is fiddling with some paperwork, but Judy is watching the drama unfold from behind the counter. “I hated keeping it from you.”

“But you did. Everybody in this whole stupid town knows the truth, don't they? Everybody but Gracie and me.”

“I really think we should go home. Erica ought to be the one to explain.” I gesture to Grace, who looks bewildered. I am horribly conscious of Susan and Judy standing on the other side of the cash register, listening to every painful word.

I am embarrassed, and I am angry. So angry. Erica
should
have been the one to explain this. Weeks ago. Years ago.

Why did she have to keep me a secret?

“Why do you call her Erica when she's your mother?” Isobel asks. “Is that just in front of us? Like, for show?”

“I call her Erica because until last week I hadn't seen or spoken to her in fifteen years. We've never had any kind of a relationship.” I lean down to Gracie. “But I am so glad—
so glad
—to get to meet you two. I've always wanted sisters.”

“This is really fucked up,” Isobel says, and I cannot disagree.

Gracie's eyes go wide. “Izzy said the f-word!”

“Sometimes when people get mad, they cuss. It's okay. She's not mad at you. Right, Iz?” Isobel has the right to be mad at everybody else, but Gracie is so little; this must be super confusing for her.

Isobel leans down and gives Gracie a quick, distracted hug. “No, 'course not.”

“Let's go home, okay? We'll talk to Erica. She can explain why she—”

“She's not at home,” Isobel says. “She's at that coffee shop.”

She pushes out the door, and I stare after her for a minute before I realize what's happening.

“Wait. No. Isobel, please!” I chase her down the brick sidewalk. Gracie grabs my hand and runs with me.

Please
don't let her make a scene.

Iz bursts into Java Jim's. Marches through the shop to the little courtyard out back, where Erica is having a cigarette and an iced coffee. Half a dozen people are enjoying the afternoon sunshine at little wrought-iron tables. Ginny West's mom is over by the fountain with Cooper Sutton's mom, chatting over blueberry scones and iced tea. My retired third-grade teacher, Mrs. Summers, is playing chess with her husband. Charlotte Wu is here with Katie Griffith, another one of the girls from swim team. Katie waves at me but I don't wave back. I'm too busy scanning the courtyard, hoping that Connor is on break or out sick or something,
anything
, to keep him from witnessing this.

He's here. Clearing glasses from a table. He looks up and sees me and smiles.

“You lied to us,” Isobel accuses her mother. Loudly.

Erica glances from Isobel to me. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head. “You little bitch. I told you to stay out of this.” Her voice is part furious and part admiring. As if she can't believe I had the gumption to disobey her. As if this is something
she
would do.

Maybe she's still looking for little pieces of herself in me.

I hope she never finds them.

“You've been lying to us
our whole lives
,” Isobel continues. “That is really messed up.”

Erica ignores Iz, her eyes locked on me. “I can't believe you told them. I didn't think you had it in you.” Like wrecking my sisters' lives is something I would do. Something I would relish.

Isobel steps between us, waving her arms to get her mother's attention. “It wasn't Ivy, okay? The lady in the bookstore told us. Did you really think we wouldn't find out? That you could bring us here and still keep it secret? Why would you
do
this?”

I glance around the courtyard. The Summerses have abandoned their chess game. Mrs. West is eating her scone and staring at us like she's at the movies.
Everyone
is staring—including Connor.

“Please,” I whisper, slouching, “can we talk about this at home?”

Erica lifts her chin. Raises her voice. “Oh, I'm sorry, are we
embarrassing
you?”

She's so spiteful. So childish. But why am I surprised?

“They're not. You are,” I snap. “But that's not new. I was embarrassed by you before I ever met you.”

It's a mean thing to say, but I am past caring.

Grace is huddled close to the prickly pink rosebush, like she's trying to blend in. “I don't understand, Mama. Why did you tell us Aunt Ivy is our aunt and not our big sister?” Her voice is small.

Erica leans forward. “Because your daddy wants to take you away from me and keep you all to himself. If you lived with him, you wouldn't get to see Iz or me except for visits. If a judge heard about how I gave up Ivy—”

“You're lying. Dad wouldn't do that.” Isobel folds her arms across her chest. “He wouldn't separate Grace and me. He'd keep both of us.”

“He doesn't have any right to you,” Erica says. “He's not your father.”

Gracie throws herself at Iz, knocking her back a step, wrapping her arms around her big sister's waist. “No! I don't want to go live with Daddy by myself. I would miss you too much!”

“I wish you weren't my mother,” Isobel chokes out. “I hate you.”

Erica glances at me like she's fully expecting me to say
I told you so.

I think it, but I don't say it. Not out loud.

Erica gives Iz a glittering smile, sliding her sunglasses back into place. “Watch your mouth. Soon I might be all you've got.”

“That's not true. That will
never
be true.” I turn to Isobel and Gracie. “You have me. And Granddad. We're not the kind of people who leave.”